“No-no, please, please-“

A nasty smack across the face silenced the pleas of Fidelis. Tied to a chair, he was already an absolute mess. His face was swollen, blood seeping from gashes above his eyebrow, cheeks and nose, and his breathing was labored. Every movement sent waves of pain through his ribs, likely cracked from the relentless blows rained upon him.

It had been only ten minutes since these masked people stormed the hotel and dragged him into this room, but it felt like an eternity of torment.

The two masked persons who had just dished out horrendous punishment stood back and observed him. Behind them was the third one, who simply stood back with his arms folded.

The silence in the room was interrupted by a shrill ringtone. The third one reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple smartphone.

“Talk to me… good, good… yes, send out the workers and other inhabitants. They’re not our target. Don’t harm any of them. As long as you guys have neutralized all the security forces, that’s good enough. Keep your eyes peeled, got it?… Good. I’ll get back to you.”

Ending the call, he then called out to the other two. “Dephios! Lycipus!”

The other two, looking ready to dish out more blows, turned to him. “Kosys!” they responded.

“Let me talk to the kwasia.”

Fidelis shivered as Dephios and Lycipus – the latter turning out to be a lady – made way for Kosys to approach him. Their facial expressions were aptly covered by their masks, but the aura of hostility and wickedness was indisputable.

Kosys crouched slightly in front of him.
“Mr. Fidelis Peprah,” he slowly began, his voice a cold drawl, “Ghana’s most popular Chief State Attorney. The great upholder of justice.” He chuckled, a low and sinister sound. “Or should I say, one of the government’s favourite little puppets?”

Fidelis tried to lift his head, but the effort was too much for a man in intense pain. Instead, he mumbled, “I… I have no-no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you know exactly what the fuck we’re talking about,” Kosys sneered, standing upright. He began to pace about. “You think we all believe your hands are clean? That your lofty position comes from your near-perfect knowledge and application of the law? Hah! Bullshit, Peprah. You’re where you are because you’ve been helping your crooked masters twist justice into something ugly and unrecognizable. That twisted fool called an Attorney-General and his dickhead deputies. And of course, that utter filth you call a president.”

“No…” Peprah rasped, shaking his head feebly. “Th-that’s not true. I… I serve the law.”

“The law?”

Kosys stared at Lycipus and Dephios, and the three burst into scornful laughter.

Then he stopped to lean down again, his mask inches from Peprah’s bruised face. “You piece of shit! You serve yourself. And those motherfuckers in government. You cover up scandals. You bury evidence. You ruin lives—all to protect the rotten carcass you call a government.”

“That’s… that’s not true…” Peprah’s denial was barely a whisper.

Kosys’s gloved hand shot out, gripping Peprah’s chin roughly and forcing his head up. “Don’t. You. Lie. To me,” he growled.

The room seemed to grow even colder as Lycipus and Dephios closed in, their presence adding to the menacing atmosphere.

“You think we don’t know about the falsified documents? The suppressed testimonies? Or the judges you’ve bought on their behalf?” Kosys spat the words with venom. “Let’s talk specifics, shall we? Lycipus, Dephios, remind me of some of his deeds.”

The cold, feminine voice of Lycipus cut through the air. “Let’s start with the Densu guy.”

“Ahh yes, yes, yes! Remember Mr. Herbert Densu? That investigative journalist who unearthed the bribery scandal involving the Minister of Energy? You fabricated evidence to discredit him—photos, fake financial records, and a false confession. His reputation was totally ruined, and his family destroyed. And why? Because your bosses at the top wanted to keep their filthy deals hidden.”

Peprah winced but said nothing.

“Or how about Justina Kyei’s disbarment?” Dephios chipped in. “Everyone knows she was silenced and kicked out of the Bar because she wouldn’t bend to the Attorney-General’s whims and challenged his senseless opinions every chance she got. And you, Peprah, you made sure a trumped-up charge of attempted murder was brought against her, and the investigation ended with her losing her license and going to prison. Meanwhile, we all know it’s one of Ansa-Obiaka’s boys that poisoned her poor driver. Not her.”

“Ansa-Obiaka,” Lycipus repeated, her tone filled with so much disgust, one would think the name was made up of pig faeces. “That dwarfish little piece of shit!”

Her disdain for the country’s leader could not be more evident.

“That-that’s a lie!” Peprah croaked, his voice hoarse with desperation. “I-I-I had nothing to do with—”

Kosys backhanded him roughly, sending his head snapping to the side. “Shut the fuck up!” he barked. “You think we’re spewing shit for the sake of it? We know all about you. You’ve been a dirty shitbag for years, Peprah. Perpetuating the most evil shit for your bastard bosses. We know all about you. But… do you know the one scandal with your name on it that disgusts me the most?”

Kosys paused, glancing at the other two. “Jo Hanta,” they all chorused, the bitterness palpable in their tones.

Fidelis’s eyes darted to Kosys, the name jolting him. He knew that matter too well; he had prosecuted that case on the government’s behalf. “W-w-what about him?”

“W-w-what about him?” Kosys repeated, his tone mocking. “Kwasia! You don’t know? You think we don’t know the real truth? That you and that medical officer… is it Dr. Woode or so, falsified that report claiming he sexually abused the small girl? That the so-called rape and murder charges against Jo Hanta were just a fabricated crime to silence a critic of the regime? Please! You even went so far as to meet with the judge, ensuring a rushed trial and a speedy conviction. And now, Hanta’s dead. Killed by one of your lackeys and framed as a suicide. All because you decided to play executioner for the government.”

Fidelis trembled as he shook his head violently, ignoring the pain that shot through his body. “No, no, no, that-that’s not true! Jo Hanta… he… he was guilty. The evidence—”

“That evidence was fucking fake, and you fucking know it!” Kosys roared in his face. “We know the fucking truth, Peprah! And you can try and deny all you want, but we know the fucking truth! Dr. Mensah confessed everything before he suddenly ‘disappeared’. And don’t think I don’t have the judge’s messages—those little notes you slipped him about how to handle the case. You think you’re slick, but we know the truth. You killed Jo Hanta. All because he saw through your foolishness and called it out. You, and your bosses… you are fucking evil.”

Peprah’s lips quivered, tears mixing with the blood on his face. “Please… I beg you… I… I can’t do anything about this… I-I… I can’t fix it now.”

Kosys stood back and looked down at the broken man before him. He took in a deep breath.

“Oh, we know. We know you can’t fix it,” he echoed icily. “But you can pay for it. And you will pay for it.”

He turned to Lycipus. “You get the stun gun?”

She nodded, pulling the weapon out of her back pocket. “Right here.”

Fidelis’ eyes widened in terror. It became evident that this was going to be one long night. And a long and painful one at that.

“Good, good. Get to work on this asshole. Dephios, join Stefeus in the dining hall and watch over the captives. I’m just gonna get this call through to that IQ-deficient fool in the Flagstaff House. Time for him to know what needs to be done.”

***

It was evening, and the polished mahogany desk in the office of the President of the Republic of Ghana gleamed under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.

Vincent Otu, Personal Assistant to President Kodwo Ansa-Obiaka, sat behind it, his pen poised over a stack of briefing notes. The President was in a meeting with his Chief of Staff, and Vincent had strict orders not to be disturbed unless it was urgent.

The shrill ring of the presidential line shattered the quiet. Vincent hesitated. This was not the best time to call, considering how busy the Head of State currently was. Whatever it was would have to wait a bit.

Straightening his tie, he reached for the receiver. “Office of the President. This is Vincent Otu speaking,” he said in his regular professional tone.

There was a brief pause, and then a voice, low and icy, spoke. “I need to speak to Kodwo Ansa-Obiaka. Immediately!”

Vincent frowned. Whoever it was seemed to have forgotten his manners, referring to the president without his titles. “You mean His Excellency, President Kodwo Ansa-Obiaka?”

“Just let me speak to him! Now!”

Vincent was not impressed by this caller’s rudeness, but decided to ignore that retort. “May I know who’s calling? And do you have an appointment?”

“No appointment,” the voice replied, a chilling calm in his tone. “Now listen carefully, Vincent. My name is not important for now. But the message I have is important. Very important. My group, the Dead Eyes, have taken the President’s special international delegation at Sekondi hostage. From the owners to the stupid attorney dickhead to all those visitors from abroad, they’re all hostage right now.”

Vincent’s stomach tightened. What in the world??!!

His free hand gripped the edge of the desk. “What! What the hell? That’s ridiculous! Who is this? What kind of prank—”

“Silence! This is not a joke. I’m fucking serious. The delegation is under our control, and this call is to let you know this: that we will eliminate all of them, one by one, unless the President fulfills our condition.”

Shaking violently at this point, Vincent asked, “Wh-wh-what condition?”

The voice continued. “Simple. That man you call a President, Kodwo Ansa-Obiaka, he must confess that his government orchestrated the disgrace and murder of Jo Hanta. He must admit to the nation on live TV that they conspired to destroy a young critic whose only crime was exposing the truth about their wickedness and corruption. And then, he must step down—immediately. He does this, and the delegation goes unharmed. If he doesn’t, within the next couple of hours, someone’s gonna die.”

Vincent’s hand went clammy around the receiver. “This is outrageous!” he blurted out, his voice rising. “Disgustingly outrageous! Do-do-do you have any idea—”

“Shut the fuck up and be wise, Mr. Otu,” the voice interrupted, low and venomous. “Call this a bluff, and you will see. Do you want the blood of international visitors on your hands? The whole world will hold Ghana accountable. If he loves this country like he claims to, tell him to do the needful now. And do it quickly. No announcement by 6 am, and the first victim will be unalived. The clock is ticking.”

The line went dead.

Vincent sat frozen, the receiver still pressed to his ear, his mind racing. As the president’s personal assistant, he had received quite a few calls which had been… unpleasant, to say the least. But this? This was a whole other level, and it was terrifying to the core. Hostages? Demands that could topple the President’s entire administration? The prospect of people dying??

This was an emergency.

Swallowing hard, Vincent stumbled to his feet, barely noticing that the receiver clattered back onto its cradle. His legs felt weak, but he forced himself to move, rushing toward the heavy double doors that led to the President’s private office.

“Sir! Sir!” Vincent called, his voice cracking as he pushed the door open.

President Kodwo Ansa-Obiaka, a bald, bespectacled man of a rather short height, looked up from the documents he and the Chief of Staff were going through. His brow, initially furrowing in irritation at the disobedience of his previous orders, switched to concern at the sight of his visibly shaken assistant. “Vincent, what is it?”

Vincent took a deep breath, his hands trembling at his sides. “Mr. President, you need to hear this. It’s urgent. And it’s critical…”

Now this is insane! A really audacious demand these guys are making…